The Wardrobe
by SambaShopoholic
Summary: Master Splinter mediates on the memories associated with private treasures kept from his sons' prying eyes. A Papa Splinter/turtle tot story.


The Wardrobe

As the sound of the TV blared in the distance, Splinter found himself retreating once again to the quiet of his room to meditate. The sounds of his sons relaxing after their morning training session, while raucous, were oddly comforting in the background of the otherwise silent room. Today they had mastered another complex kata and all his sons were showing improvement in their battle tactics while sparring. Today was a day he was even more proud of their accomplishments than usual. The last year had been trying in more ways than just physically and it was heartening to know that it wasn't weighing them down too terribly. It was hard to believe just how far they had come. Perhaps it was time to meditate on that instead of his usual visit to Tang Shen and Miwa's memory.

Splinter lit the incense and his candles, and rather than assume his typical lotus position, an idea occurred to him. Instead of sitting, he walked over to his wardrobe. He smiled to himself; this was a place none of his sons would dare tread, not even in their bravest moments. They learned at an early age not to disturb their father's things. He shook his head at the memory. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so angry but it got his point across and none of his sons made any attempts at finding out what was in his wardrobe again in the years that passed.

Opening the door, he moved aside his few robes and set his hand upon what he was looking for, an ornately painted chest. The lacquered cherry blossoms winked at him in the candlelight. Walking back to his tatami mat he set the chest on the floor in front of him and kneeled to open it, the welcoming scent of cedar flooding his nose. Oh, if only his boys knew what he kept in it. Perhaps one mutation day he would show them.

In the early years of their life in the sewers, their home was transitory; mostly due to the need to keep unseen. He didn't have much to remember those early years by, save for his memories, but once they had found their current home he began to start keeping mementos of their lives. The first of these was a broken bamboo sword; Leonardo's first of many, having been broken over Raphael's shell in a particularly heated sparring match early in their training. The look of shock on both Leonardo's and Raphael's faces accompanying the sharp crack of the wood was nearly comical. Splinter had had to stifle a laugh when Leonardo was instantly on Raphael, apologizing profusely and try to see if he was hurt. Raphael had thrown him off his shell with a loud "I'M FINE! Get off me!" which then devolved into one of the many wrestling matches Splinter had needed to split up in his years as a father of four boys. After the training session had ended, he had gathered up the broken pieces and had moved to throw them away. He did not know why his hand had hesitated over the trash bin, but thinking better of it, he kept the broken pieces and had hidden them away in his room. Looking at the pieces again he couldn't help but wonder what Leonardo would think of them. Would he even remember that day? They had been quite young. Perhaps he would bring out the chest this mutation day after all. He held council with his eldest son most often, both in meditation and tactics and it was very easy to forget the small boy who worried about his brothers' well-being above anything else when the turtle on the cusp of adulthood sat before him.

Next to be removed from the chest was a packet of cards. Wrapped in twine there were 10 of them. Unwrapping them carefully, he turned to the first one he had been given, on the occasion of their 5th mutation day. The childlike scrawl of Michelangelo spread unevenly across the front. "TO THE BESTEST DAD EVER! HAPPY MUTATION DAY! LOVE MICHELANGELO." A large smiley face graced the front of the card. Opening the card, a drawing in crayon of Michelangelo, his brothers and himself standing under a rainbow greeted him. He remembered Donatello coaching Michelangelo through the word mutation a week before the day and wondering at the sight. When he had received the card, he instantly knew why Michelangelo had sought to improve his spelling. Turning to the other cards each once was graced with the same inscription (no matter how many times Donatello had told him "bestest" wasn't correct, Michelangelo persisted in using the term) and some variation of the picture inside. Most recently, ice cream kitty had made it into the picture. Always accompanying the card was a big hug from the orange banded turtle. In recent years the hugs had become nearly bone crushing as the orange banded turtle grew in size and strength, but the love was felt all the same. In fact Splinter had come to look forward to these hugs. While not all together uncommon, physical affection from any of his sons had become few and far between over the years. The hugs and snuggles from his baby boys had dissolved into smiles, nods, and bows of respect from his teenagers. Hugs were reserved for comfort from pain in its myriad of forms. Sometimes he missed the clinging of his little ones, not that he would admit it in front of them. Michelangelo had always been the most forthcoming but even he had outgrown some of it. Splinter pointedly told himself that he would be sure to cherish every hug and smile from each of his sons but especially from his youngest.

In the bottom of the chest under all the other kept objects was the heaviest of his mementos, Donatello's first laptop. Built from scavenged parts and a considerable amount of elbow grease on his part, Donatello had been supremely proud of it. It weighed a ton compared to topside models but it had served and many an hour had been passed with Donatello hunched over the keyboard deciphering code and working on plans to make their lives underground more comfortable. With the rate at which technology was moving he was constantly scavenging parts to upgrade it, forgoing the sleep Splinter mandated to work on it. "Just one more program, Sensei! I promise I'll sleep after I'm finished! It won't take me very long!" The puppy eyes that accompanied the phrase were nearly always enough to make him acquiesce to his son's new found fervor for technology. When half an hour suddenly started turning into 3 hours and then to all night, Splinter had found himself essentially dragging Donatello away from the screen. "A ninja needs his rest. Sleep now." "But! But! But!" "No. Sleep. Now." "Hrmmph. Fine". Splinter had found himself rolling his eyes on more than one occasion once his back was turned after tucking his brilliant son into his bed. Even after Splinter had intercepted him multiple times sneaking into the lab at all hours of the night, Donatello had steadfastly refused to try to sleep until he had deemed his work done.

The death of the laptop had come just as the long sleepless nights had begun for Donatello. Michelangelo had yet again done something to set off Raphael's short fused temper and they were wrestling and pummeling each other in a ball of green limbs. The scuffle had entered Donatello's lab while Donatello was in the kitchen getting a glass of water. The loud CRASH that had emanated from the lab had everyone running into the room. The desk had been overturned and the rest of the room was in chaos. When Splinter had finally pulled Raphael off of Michelangelo, it was discovered that the laptop had been crushed under the orange clad turtle's shell. Donatello had blanched and then unleashed a fury that was nothing short of a force of nature. Once Splinter and Leonardo had pulled Donatello off his brothers at least twice each, they all were forced to mediate to calm themselves down. After dinner Splinter had found his purple banded son muttering to himself while he assessed the damage to his beloved machine. After pulling all the files he could off of it onto an external hard drive, with a loud groan he declared the carcass of the computer a total loss and summarily dumped it into his trash bin. He had left the lab swearing under his breath in Japanese, not noticing his father standing in the shadows. An eyebrow raised at the thought of where he had learned such language but the rat was more interested in the machine that had been abandoned. He knew how much it had meant to his second youngest and how much it had helped in bringing about a lot of changes that had vastly improved their family's quality of life. At that, the machine was tucked away into the chest in the wardrobe, a reminder of the beginning of Donatello's ever expanding intellect and far reaching mind improving their lives.

The chest itself was a memory attributed to Raphael and the fateful day he and his brothers had infiltrated Splinter's room. At the time, the chest was a plain cedar chest, newly repaired after being scavenged from the dumpster of an antique shop. A few nails and some glue and it would have done nicely for the pictures and the tessen that would have been Miwa's one day, had cruel fate and Oroku Saki not intervened.

That day he had returned from another scavenging run topside, having left his young sons behind in the lair. Upon entering, he encountered an unnatural stillness in the lair that only meant one thing; that his sons were up to something. Using his now preternatural hearing, he heard small shuffling sounds and low voices coming from the direction his room. While using all of his considerable stealth training was hardly necessary with his young sons, he crept through the dojo toward the small noises with no more than a little panic in his heart. What if they had found the pictures of his wife and child and had, however accidently, destroyed them? The anger at the thought burned though him. Sliding the door open forcefully he was met with 4 pairs of terrified eyes and a stifling silence. The most terrified had been Raphael; who had been caught with brush in hand, paint spattering his arms. Leonardo was beside him to the right, holding a flashlight to allow Raphael to see what he was doing in the dark room. Donatello was to his left, holding a painting that had been earlier hanging in the dojo, apparently for Raphael to reference. Michelangelo was nearest to the door, apparently on lookout duty. When the door had opened on them suddenly he had leapt back startled and was now on his backside near his brothers legs. All of them were absolutely still, hardly daring to take a breath. "OUT!" The command had come loud and angry and to their small forms on the floor, terrifying and they scattered as quickly as their little legs could carry them.

When the moment of anger had passed, Splinter had lit his candles and turned to assess the damage. The wardrobe was ajar, his robes scattered in front of it. The dojo painting was in a heap on the floor where Donatello had abandoned it. The cedar chest was in the middle of the room with a plate full of paint next to it. Raphael's brush sat in front of it where it had dropped from his hand as he ran out of the room. Leonardo's flashlight had rolled to the right of the brush, the beam illuminating the corner of the chest. The chest itself had been transformed. Painted on a field black, white cherry blossoms danced on the invisible breeze from their branches around the entirety of the small chest. Upon further inspection, it seemed that the voices he had heard when he had returned must have been discussing whether or not to add more blossoms, since the whole thing looked complete. How long had they been in his room? They must have ransacked his wardrobe very nearly the moment after he left to have made so much progress. Had he really been gone that long?

After confirming that his most treasured mementos from Japan were still safely hidden and intact, he left the chest to continue drying and sought out his sons. He found them all in Raphael's room, Donatello trying to help get the paint off his brother's arms and hands. His other two sons were sitting on the bed, Leonardo trying to calm a crying Michelangelo down through the sniffles of apologies for not sensing their father sooner.

Splinter sighed inwardly; he really hadn't meant to scare them so badly. This time he knocked on the door. Hearing the small gasps from inside, he opened the door and again he was met with four pairs of terrified eyes. "My sons, I'm sorry for my outburst but you must know that you should not go through someone's possessions without their consent." They all nodded in agreement, eyes wide with fear. "Hai Sensei." they echoed and hung their heads, dreading the coming punishment. His anger having burnt out as quickly as it had come, he hadn't the heart to punish them for what was really a small transgression. Alas, he must do something. "Good. Meditate on the concept of respecting others personal possessions. To your corners." His sons shuffled past him out of the bedroom and into the four corners of the dojo. Splinter assumed his place beneath the tree and observed the four shells facing him, shaking his head. After 15 minutes he released them. Returning once again to his room he gathered up the painting and rehung it in the dojo. Afterwards, he once again inspected the chest. Now that it was dry he could move it to inspect it more closely. It was in fact quite lovely, the blossoms fading from white edges to pink centers where the bit of red paint and been swirled with the white. Replacing it back into the wardrobe, he turned to gather up robes that had been scattered by his sons. Everything back in its place, Splinter picked up the brush and paint. Leaving the dojo, he found Raphael in front of the TV with his brothers. "Raphael," the little turtle jumped to his feet at his name being called, tension turning his shoulders rigid, "I believe these are yours." Splinter held out the plate and the brush. Raphael shyly reached out to take them. "Next time, Ask." The red banded turtle nodded and turned to put the items away. "The chest is now quite beautiful. It is quite an improvement." Raphael froze midstep, his brothers faces snapped to look at him, wide smiles on their faces. Raphael turned back to his father, a blush darkening his cheeks. He offered a sheepish smile and muttered a whispered "Thank You" back at his father and then ran to put his brush and makeshift palette away, disappearing into the hallway towards his room.

Splinter never noticed Raphael with a brush in his hands again as the years passed; however subsequent mutation days always seemed to bring beautifully painted objects for his brothers and room cleanouts always seemed to contain empty paint cans and destroyed brushes. An increase in useable paper also seemed to be on the top of Donatello's scavenging list once he was allowed to go on his own, yet none of it ever resided in his lab. Splinter wondered what other pieces Raphael had wrought through the years.

With all of his treasures tucked safely away back into the chest he remembered one more thing that needed to join the collection. As part of her training to be a kunoichi, not only was April learning katas, learning to mediate and sparring with her newly acquired tessen but Splinter was also teaching her calligraphy. Just this week she had completed the poem Splinter had set out for her to copy. Her strokes were no longer so shaky and were starting to flow nicely together. She may not have completely understood what she was writing but her confidence in her hand was definitely improving. The ink now dry, Splinter removed the paper from the shelf it was resting on and moved to place it in the chest. A new memory added to the cherished many hidden away in his wardrobe where the memories of the past awaited the memories of the future to join them in the cedar scented dark.


End file.
